


Bad Town, For Such A Pretty face

by Miran4242



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: All Romance is Background, Also murders, Gen, If you can't tell I love Lydia so much, It was so long ago that I watched this show, Other, Serial Killer Lydia Martin, That's mainly what it's about, There's some complicated Stiles & Lydia feelings tho, This is not cannon compliant, but like, dark author voice, here there be murders, if canon was like an aesthetic, mentions of Allison, or perhaps she's unbreakable, takes place post 3x23, that really messed Lydia up, that's why I must break her, this fic would have it, we'll see
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 12:54:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19273750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miran4242/pseuds/Miran4242
Summary: “So you think Lydia, our Lydia, Lydia Martin, is a serial killer? The same Lydia who screams when she sees dead bodies? The Lydia who cares about purses and shoes and throwing good parties? The Lydia who carries around a purse dog? That Lydia, Scott?”“I guess when you put it like that it sounds kind of crazy.”Highly inspired by this playlist:  https://8tracks.com/marthinski/she-is-hell-on-high-heels





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wolves and the Wolfsbane

She always liked it better in the dark.

Dark was quiet and peace. It was starlight and moon beams drifting across the floor of her bedroom. The dark was soft pants and the contact of bodies. The smell of sweat and the taste of desire. There were no inhibitions in the dark, no lies. Just predator and prey. Power and weakness. Instinct.

  
This was no different.

  
She straddled the boy, clenching his struggling legs into stillness below her. She silenced his whimpers with the appearance of a knife. It’s blade flashed silver in the scant light of the supply closet.

  
“Shhhh” She cooed, laying the flat of the blade on his lips.

  
She speculated briefly if she’d see the light fade from his eyes. What his last thoughts would be. It was the scientific part of her brain. The A-plus student in her wanting all the answers. That part of her brain wanted the numbers, the time, the measurements. It wanted the equation of his death spelled out with pen and paper, turned in, essay form. The other part of her brain, the part that loved the dark, just wanted him dead. Wanted to smell his blood.

  
She didn’t know why this happened to her. Why the killing made her feel better. You would think that being a banshee, it would make her life worse. But it didn’t. It turned her screams into battle cries. Made every part of her feel strong and alive. Free.

  
“Maybe I’m just crazy”, she whispered, although whether to herself or to him she wasn’t sure. The boy had stopped struggling and simply watched her. Watched the knife, really, going almost cross-eyed to keep his eye on its position. She lifted it from his lips, almost lazily dragging the tip down his forehead and to the tip of his nose. There, she balanced the edge of the knife, twirling it slowly between her fingers. Almost like a ballerina.

  
He was pretty for a boy. Long black hair and long eyelashes. She wondered if he looked just as pretty on the inside. Sinews and muscle giving way to organs and bones and blood. She laughed a little. Definitely crazy. But she didn’t care, not really.

  
“So here’s how this is going to work.” Once again, she wasn’t sure who she was talking to, but she continued anyway. “ You’ll die,” She removed the knife from his nose, eyeing it appraisingly. “Then I’ll scream.” She used her un knifed hand to walk her fingers up his chest. She’d removed his shirt when she’d gagged and tied him. “And they’ll all come running. Scott and Stiles,” Her fingers reached the hollow of his neck. “Kira and Malia. They’ll gasp and gape and want answers. I’ll be there to provide them of course. It’s always me.” She let her fingers rest there, feeling the warmth of is skin.” Don’t worry though. Not the right answers.” She could feel his pulse, rhythmic and fast like a rabbits. A swift bumbadabumbadabumbitybum. Kill the beat, and she killed the boy. Funny how the heart was such a fragile thing.

  
Her hand went back to his stomach. It was smooth and slightly muscled, a fact that made a smile curve across her lips. A clean slate. The knife moved.

  
She began to cut.

  
His muscles tensed, and the gag stopped anything but a muffled grunt from coming out. She cut deep enough for it to bleed, dark scarlet painting the cheap linoleum of the closet floor. Deep enough to hurt. It wasn’t enough to kill him. That would come later. For now, she cut a symbol into his skin. It was something she’d found in her books, a cult symbol. Something she knew Deaton would recognize. An arrow pointing in the wrong direction, and they would all fall for it. Hook, line, and sinker.

  
She took a moment to feel what she was doing, reveling in the ease with which she cut through him. The knife was a ship sailing through the ocean and she was its captain. She was strong, alone with his grunts and the dark. Whole. She held his life in her hands, and she was letting it bleed out, one drop at a time. She smiled again.  
When she was done, she reviewed her handiwork with pride.

  
His breath was labored with pain, his body shuddering with it. He seemed to have run out of the strength to scream. The symbol stretched from his chest to below his navel. Straight symmetrical cuts accented with long excruciating curves. Everything was soaked in crimson. Her hands looked like she’d been finger painting, something she hadn’t done since kindergarten. Once again her brain wanted to quantify it. To make his pain and his blood an experiment to study. She quieted those thoughts.

With the knife in her hands, she let the darkness take over.

 

 

 

 

  

Not all nights in Beacon Hills were filled with the howls of werewolves and the last breaths of civilians. Not every night ended in fear. Some nights were quiet.  
Tonight was not one of those nights.

  
Scott Mcall knew the scream was Lydia as soon as he heard it. It was the feeling that crept up his spine, made his heart pound, and made his blood run cold. Fear. Something about a banshees scream frightened him beyond anything he’d ever encountered, even if it was only for a split second. It was raw power, raw instinct, something that spoke to the deepest, darkest, animal fears that he had.  
Or maybe he was overthinking it. He had just woken up.

  
His eyes snapped open, blazing crimson for a moment as he gathered his clothes from the floor and opened the window into the moonlit night.  
An alphas work is never done.

 

 

 

 

Stiles Stilinski was not asleep, although not from supernatural forces awakening him. Ever since the Nogisne, ever since those nights when sleeping felt like being awake, and being awake felt like a dream, the sandman was not someone Stiles felt like spending much time with. It wasn’t that he didn’t sleep. His father often found him in the morning, laid across his laptop, a book, or a map. It was just he was happier when he knew what was real. Tonight it was pacing. Sometimes he just paced. Back and forth across his room until he fell asleep, too tired to dream.

  
This is why he wasn’t surprised when a girl leaped through his window. He’d begun to suspect that she did this a lot. Sneaking into his room. She usually waited until he was asleep though, and was mysteriously gone if his father happened to come to check on him. When she did things like this, he was more aware than ever that she wasn’t completely used to being human. It was something in the way she moved, an animal grace that didn’t fit her body. Like she was wearing a shirt that didn’t fit quite right.

  
“Did you hear that?” Malia said. She straightened, and he saw her eyes flash electric blue.

  
“Do you think maybe you could try knocking next time?” The boy stopped pacing.

  
She rolled her eyes. “It was Lydia.”

  
“What happened?”

  
“I don’t know, I heard a scream and came here.” The were-coyote gestured to the window, looking at him like this was the most natural thing in the world. “Are you coming?”

  
“Yeah, but people use doors to get in and out of places.”

  
“Scott doesn’t.” Malia retorted.

  
“Yeah well Scotts not exactly human is he?” But he clamored out of the window anyway. Malia followed. So much of him was still rigged to react to Lydia, to her voice, her smile, her name. His actions seemed automatic. Of course he would go after her, come when she called. Even if his heart was in a different place, with a different girl, part of him still belonged to Lydia.

  
He smiled with a bitter tang. No matter how much of him belonged to her, Lydia had always belonged to one person: Herself.

  
“Do you think it’s another body?” Malia asked as the road disappeared beneath his jeep.

  
“It was Lydia. Of course there’s a body.”

 

 

 

Lydia Martin was preparing. She knew that they were on their way. She had about five minutes before Scott appeared. Maybe eight before Stiles and Malia. Ten for Kira, considering that she’d have to sneak out and was without a car. She’d picked her location specifically for those times. She couldn’t have everyone show up too quickly, and she couldn’t have them take forever to get there either.

Five minutes would be just enough.

  
She’d cleaned the blood off her hands, something that almost made her sad. It made her arms feel almost empty. Don’t worry. It will happen again. She smiled, but swiftly stopped herself. Any emotion besides slight worry and the slightest hint of panic would be easily noticed by her friends. The mental preparation was the hardest. Getting her feelings under control was what the five minutes was for. Everything else had been taken care of. She tried to remember what it had felt like before she’d killed. That feeling of dread whenever she found a new body. That feeling of helplessness as she’d screamed. The fear of a power she couldn’t control. She put herself in that mindset quickly, could almost feel the terror descending on her.

  
It was time, Scott raced down the hallway. There was no sleep in his eyes. He was in full Alpha mode now, nothing would stop him from protecting his pack, his town. He really was a great leader, truly cared. What would he do if he knew what Lydia had done? He would probably try to help her. Try to heal her. The one flaw with Scott McCall was that he always saw the best in people. It blinded him to the truth.

  
Some people were just monsters.

  
Lydia was sure she was, although she wasn’t sure how it happened. One minute just a girl, the next, she had blood on her hands. Strangely this change didn’t bother her. She fit into her new role as a murderess with ease. Excitement. Maybe she was just too far gone.

  
Or maybe it wasn’t a change. Maybe this part of her had always been there, just waiting for the right opportunity. Maybe this was what she was supposed to do. After all, she was great at it.  
“Lydia, are you alright?” The Alpha looked at her with a worry she didn’t deserve.

  
“Yeah, but him? Not so much.” She gestured helplessly toward the closet, placing a hand over her mouth. Scott opened the closet door. As soon as he did, he bent over gagging. Lydia resisted the urge to smile once more. Of course it wasn’t the sight of another dead body that was bothering Scott. He was all too used to that. No, it was the Wolfsbane that was effecting him. Making him unable to smell her on the body, smell the blood on her clothes, or smell much of anything at all. It would have the same effect on the rest of the werewolves. A piece of cake.

  
“Scott!” She played the part of concerned friend well, placing a hand on his back as he tottered. “Is it..?”

  
Scott nodded. “Whoever did this knew what they were doing.” He managed to cough out. “They knew we’d be here.”

  
He was not wrong.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Lion and the Lamb

“Scott, could you focus? We do have a game to play tomorrow."

 Stiles held the lacrosse stick in his hand, gesturing to the couple of balls he’d managed to get past Scott. Usually that was impossible, even when the young alpha was distracted.

“Sorry, all these bodies are just starting to get to me.” Scott McCall sighed. The body in the school closet had been the fourth they’d found. Deacon said that it was for some sort of complex ritual, according to the markings on the body. Something to do with demon raising.

 “Deacon’s said there’s nothing we can do right now. We’ve just have to wait until the new moon or something  when the ‘killer will strike again’.” Stiles reasoned, impersonating the serious tones of the veterinarian. He walked over and threw an arm around the worried werewolf.  “So all we can really do is try to shred the Rattlesnakes in the game tomorrow and wait-“

“For someone to die?”

“-For the new moon, when we will find the killer before they can brutally murder anyone else.”

Scott nodded, wishing that he could be as confident as his friend. He just couldn’t help think there was something bigger going on. Something he was missing.

A ball came whipping toward him and this time he plucked it easily out of the air. At least there was something he wasn’t missing.

 

 

 

 

A predator stalked the halls of Beacon Hills High School, looking for the next fatality. It was not a wolf, nor was it fox. It didn’t have glowing eyes or super strength. It was not fast or strong. It was, however, smart, and as it calculated the risk of each potential victim, it also finished its math homework.

Lydia Martin sat in the library, nose seemingly buried in her math book.  She swiftly wrote an x on her paper and closed her book almost rolling her eyes at the simplicity of the AP classes. Her gaze then rested on the other people in the library. There was a small freshmen boy, reading some sort of book about Star Wars. He was drinking chocolate milk, and as she watched, he spilled it on the table in front of him.

_Too easy_.

Another boy was leaning against bookshelves, running his fingers through his hair as he flirted with the girl in front of him. He was clad in a leather jacket and blue jeans. His face was not hideous. If she was looking for something else, he may have been the perfect choice. Instead, her eyes went to the girl. Guys, in general, were easy. They were controlled by their desires. A flip of the hair, batting of the eye lashes, a sly smile and most guys would follow you anywhere for a time. But girls...that would be a challenge.

She wasn’t In Lydia’s grade, but looked younger, sophomore maybe. She had an innocence about her that clashed with the boys bad boy attitude, but she still seemed tough. She reminded her of Allison in that way. Lydia watched as the two said their goodbyes, her tucking wheat colored hair in behind her ears and blushing, him smiling charmingly and slipping her a piece of paper as he left.

The girl smiled like an idiot as she looked at the paper, even doing a little spin of excitement. Lydia just rolled her eyes.  She remembered a time when she got that excited over boys, back before she realized most of the time they weren’t worth it.

The predator was not a wolf or a fox, but it bared its teeth anyway as it closed its math book and walked toward the girl.

Smiling, the lion approached the lamb.

“Has Lydia seemed weird to you guys lately?” Malia slides next to Stiles at the lunch table, a small amount of French fries piled next to a huge mound of what looked like raw hamburger. Stiles wasn’t sure how she managed to get the lunch lady to give her anything other than the regular lunch room slop.

“Are you really the person to be calling someone weird?”  he responded smiling at her. She just glared at him. He bit into his own mystery meat of the day, gesturing  in the general direction of Lydia. She was sitting with a group of younger kids today, like she had been all week. “Same old Lydia. I think I saw her explaining the ins and outs of shoe selection to some freshman.” He reached over to take one her fries but a low growl from her made him rethink his decision.

“Exactly. Isn’t it weird that she’s hanging out with a freshman?” The werecoyote shoveled meat into her mouth as she spoke. “ Aren’t they kind of low in the food chain around here?”

“Maybe she’s lonely,” Kira says, frowning a little. She was neatly cutting into her own food. She was a distinct opposite to the animalistic eating habits of Malia. Stiles could never remember the names of the foods the kitsune’s mom packed for her, but they always smelled good. “I mean, none of us are Allison. Maybe she needs other friends? Space you, know?”

They all looked up from their prospective lunches to where Lydia was. Even when sitting with a gaggle of freshmen, Lydia Martin looked undeniably amazing. She had a way of commanding attention, even when she wasn’t speaking or even moving. Pristine outfits, striking hair, a surprising intellect. It was difficult not to see why she was as popular as she was. It was difficult, however, to see why she was with the underclassmen in the first place.

“Maybe she’s tutoring?” Scott suggested. He was using a chopstick to spear something that looked like fish from Kira’s lunch box. He rarely remembered to pack himself a lunch. Instead of making his mom pay for his food, he generally just picked food from his friend’s plates. _His_ girlfriend never growled when he took food from her.

“Tutoring doesn’t seem like Lydia’s style. “ It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy helping, it just seemed like teaching kids to do basic algebra would bore the red-head. Genius’ generally didn’t enjoy suffering fools, and freshman were probably the biggest fools that high school had to offer. _Just look at me and Scott_. Stiles thought. _We unleashed a werewolf in our freshman year.”_ Maybe she’s just making friends with freshmen so she can take one as her next victim.” Stiles laughed. “Maybe she’s using freshmen to raise demons.

Everyone chuckled. The idea of the Lydia Martin as a killer was hilarious. She was a genius. A prom queen. A make-up connoisseur. But a murderer?

Impossible.

As if sensing their collective attention on her, Lydia glanced up and smiled, flourishing her fingers in a small, dignified wave. Even her waves seemed to scream perfection.

Definitely impossible.

 

 

 

Thunder clouds gathered in the Beacon hills air. All of the greens of the trees and the grass looked brighter in comparison to sky, which had turned a light grim grey. It was rain without malice, but with purpose. Cold, moderate, necessary. People around town rushed into their homes or their cars, ducked beneath umbrellas and gracious roof tops. As the rest of humanity escaped the rain, Lydia Martin held a life in her hands.

Her fingers entangled in soft wheat hair, the terrified eyes of the girl gazing up at her,  she held the knife up to the girls throat. She was in the forest today, the sharp greens and clean scent like a blank slate for her. This was a good place to kill.

Lydia had been right in thinking that a girl would be harder. Girls were naturally more wary in her experience, less willing to trust. As soon as they were thrust into the world, girls had experience with predators. But the girl had fallen all the same. Lydia was too good at what she did.

She had started with compliments. “Your hair is so pretty” and “Where did you get your shoes?” echoed nicely through though the stacks of books in the library. The poor girl had seemed honored to be talking to an upperclassman, and Lydia Martin at that. Next she’d moved on to advice. “Be careful with him.” She’d said. “I have plenty of experience with boys like that.” The girl seemed grateful, but declined offers to Lydia’s home on account of homework and studying . Then the chase had begun.

It was much like a romance. There were smiles across hallways, talks between classes, little gifts in the form of borrowed pencils and help with algebra. She learned much about the blonde girl. When her friends asked her about her new little pet she simply shrugged. “She reminds me of Allison."

They were content to leave her after that. Allison was a subject they all hesitated to broach, especially around Lydia.

In truth, it felt nice having a normal person to talk to. Someone who’s life wasn’t all dead bodies and supernatural threats. Someone who still worried about what her friends thought about her or what clothes she wore. It was refreshing.

After about two weeks of this courting of sorts, Lydia finally managed to lure her prey to her home. It was late at night, after a date with the boy in the leather jacket. She picked her up from the boys house in a borrowed car, and slid into the night. They spent it watching movies and talking about boys. It made Lydia sad to think that she had no boys to talk about. Instead she talked about Scott and Stiles and Malia and Kira. She talked about her friends, leaving blank places for all those who were gone. Isaac. Aiden.  Jackson. Allison. When they’d woken up after a night of fun, Lydia had offered to take her home.

The wheat haired girl had only begun to panic when she’d taken a detour into the woods.

And now here they were.

“I’m actually kind of sorry about this one.” Lydia said, letting the blade caress the neck of her latest victim. “You were so cute.

She was strong as well. The girl was afraid, that much was plain, but she wouldn’t let herself cry. And she had put up a fight. It had taken all of Lydia’s strength to wrestle her out of the car, but a quick whiff of the chemical cocktail she’d whipped up after chemistry class made it easy for the red haired girl to drag her a good distance from the dirt road.

“You don’t have to do this!” The girl gasped desperately. She was breathing heavily and Lydia could almost imagine the beat of her heart. _Bumbittybumpbittybumpbumpbum._

Lydia just smiled. “I wish you could understand.”

She strung the knife across the girls throat.

Red dribbled into the brilliant greens of the leaves and the grass. It was a messy death, but quick. Lydia watched the lifeless body drop to the ground, watched the yellow wheat blend with the reds and greens, and she couldn’t help thinking of Christmas. It felt kind of like that. The relief felt right after ripping open the package you had been waiting and speculating about for weeks. The excitement in finding it was exactly what you wanted.

She reached into the pocket of her jacket and began sprinkling the wolfs bane, paying no mind to the fact that she was getting blood on her favorite shoes. She would have to get rid of them anyway. Considering who she was, no one would notice her buying new clothes.

It would probably take them a few days to find the body, and by then there wouldn’t be much to find. Lydia began to pile rocks around the wheat haired girl, sparing a glance at the remains of the freshman. She looked almost peaceful, save the sticky redness that stained her skin. For a moment something glimmered across Lydias own face as she glanced into the eyes of her victim.

Was it regret for the life she’d taken? Was a realization of what she’d become?  A moment of clarity, a speck of the old Lydia daring to face the darkness which had overcome her?

Whatever it had been, it was gone quickly, replaced by a self-satisfied smile. She piled leaves and sticks, covering the red with browns and greens once more. As she pulled the lighter out of her pocket, her mind turned once more to the holidays.

What was Christmas, without lights?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fisherman and the Shark

Malia Tate could not sleep. The sounds and smells of Beacon Hills drifted through the open window, still keeping her on edge after all this time. But she couldn’t stand closing it either. When she did, it began to feel like the oppressive walls of her room were closing in on her, trapping her in this cage of a house. It was at night that she missed the silent openness of the forest the most. The way everything seemed to be alive, even in the quiet. Everything in the city was dead and noisy. So many noises. A car passed by on the street. Far away there was a firetruck screaming into the night. Somewhere a woman was crying. She could smell the sickening stench of some fast food restaurant down the street, the sweat of the drunk on the corner, a fire that was burning through the forest. All the senses and smells and sounds swirled around her like the fan above her bed. Everything in the city was loud and dead and horrible and-

She sat up. Stiles. She needed Stiles. When she was with him, she couldn’t hear anything but his breathing, smell anything but the cologne he pretended not to wear, feel anything but his warmth against hers. She wasn’t going to be able to sleep tonight without him. She pulled off her blankets, and launched herself out of her window. Whatever Stiles said, going out through the window was a lot easier than going through the door.

The night air pressed against her skin as she began to sprint toward the house of the boy she loved. Generally running was a good head clearer, and just thinking of Stiles was helping to calm her mind, but something was still tugging at her senses, distracting her. The smell of wood and leaves turned bitter and dark by fire. She could smell the flames as they ate away at the forest, but it wasn’t the smoke that made her change direction and move toward the trees. It was something she smelled in the smoke, something she couldn’t but a finger on. Something familiar.

Malia quickly reached the tree line, giving the firetrucks and crewmen a wide berth. They were far too busy to notice one girl slipping in-between the trees, never mind a were-coyote. Water arched and fizzled against the brilliant orange flames, but she could almost see the fire laughing. It was like that superhero movie Stiles had made her watch. The fireman had the army, but the fire had the Hulk.

She knew she should have felt something about the destruction of the tress that were once her home, but instinct told her that the forest would grow back. The blackened bark and ash would turn to fresh knew buds and new growth.  Death was just a part of life, at least in the forest. She thought briefly of the dead bodies they’d found.  For humans, it was never that simple.

Suddenly she recognized the smell that had pulled her there. _Wolfsbane_. Just like the kind that had been sprinkled over the bodies. The fire was so big now that it was mingling with the scents of other thing burning, but she could definitely smell the toxic plant under the scent of the burning undergrowth. Being this close was making her eyes water. Did that mean there was another body? She would need to warn the others.

She knew that Scott would need to know first. Unfortunately for her, Stiles would have to wait.  As she turned to make her way across town, something else attracted her attention. Another scent mingling with the burning bark and faint smell of wolfsbane. It was faint, only a whisper of scent really, barely even detectable before it was gone. It had been sweet and kind of girly. Like cherries, maybe.

It reminded her a little of Lydia.

She shook her head, clearing the thought from her head. It was just something that smelled like Lydia. Maybe the scent of the body. Maybe just a normal forest scent going through her sleep deprived mind. The rest of the pack was always saying that she needed to use her head more and her instincts less. _People_ used doors. _People_ didn’t chase small animals. _People_ didn’t catch whiffs of their friends at possible murder scenes. She wasn’t sure this was the same thing, but she decided to treat it the same way. Even the small amount of wolfsbane in the flames was starting to get to her, so she finally broke away from the blaze and went to get Scott.

Time to rouse the pack.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Scott took a deep breath, letting the air move in and out of his lungs with gentle fluidity. He needed to think, needed to clear his head. For that he needed to be calm. Cool. Collected.

Kira was making that difficult.

The kitsune was pressed against him, her head pressed against his chest, her fingers draped across him in a way he found adorable. Even after all this time, he still felt nervous around her. He got those stupid butterflies people always talked about in his stomach, and his heart beat a little too fast to be normal. It was impossible for him to be calm when she was next to him. Impossible to think when her scent was this strong.

He shifted, and she made a small mumbling noise. Even that was cute. It was hard to think about the bodies when he was thinking about Kira, but he made himself try. What could it be? Because of the wolfsbane, he was almost positive the threat was supernatural, or at least someone who knew about the supernatural. But why would someone normal want to kill high school students? He almost laughed at himself. With all the werewolves and other beasts who preyed on the humans in Beacon Hills, he’d almost forgotten that human monsters existed. That sometimes people just killed other people. But if the killer was human, why the wolfsbane? It wouldn’t make any since for some sort of normal serial killer to prepare for the deaths, plus there were the demon raising symbols. No, it was definitely something supernatural.

His mind drifted between different creatures and ideas, stories from his childhood to fairytales, wondering why someone would want to raise a demon, how he could stop it. He was so deep in his thoughts, that he didn’t notice the dark eyes looking up at him.

 “You’re worrying again.” Kira said, reaching a hand up to stroke his face.

 Scott sighed, and it is a sound that is too old for him. He is too young to have seen so many things, too young to have so much blood on his hands. Too young for all the responsibility. But it was his, either way, and he was going to be the one that had to fix everything. He always was.  “I just don’t want anyone else to die.” He said simply.

“You can’t do anything about it tonight.” She says, letting her fingers drift to his neck an down his chest, and looking up at him. “Right?”

 Scott let out another sigh and smiled at her, “I guess you’re right.” He tightened his arms around her, letting himself get caught in her smell, in the feeling of her next to him. He decided to stop thinking for the night. To just enjoy this moment of peace.

Of course it was then that Malia appeared at his window.

Well, at least he’d gotten a moment.

 

 

 

 

School was strange for the next few days, it was like there was a power vacuum. There was no one’s light to bask in as she walks down the hall, no one to outsmart you in chemistry class, no one to gently insult you with a smile. At least that was how it felt to Stiles as the days stretched on without Lydia. She hadn’t shown up to school since the little freshman had disappeared, and she wouldn’t answer any phones or talk to anyone.  Any attempt to find her at her house was stopped by her mother, who assured that Lydia ‘just needed some time’.

It wasn’t just Stiles who felt it. The entire school seemed to be effected. The conversations in the hallways were subdued. Teachers were light on homework. The loss of students was beginning to take its toll.

It was like everyone was waiting for a storm to break.

“Do you think it was on purpose?”

Stiles was knocked out of his revere by the sound of Maila. “What?” He said.

“Stiles, pay attention! Do you think the fire was on purpose?”

She looked at him, expecting an answer. The others looked at him as well, Lydia’s space at the lunch table conspicuously empty

“If you smelled Wolfsbane then that means there was probably a body. So I’m gonna say, definitely. “

“It just doesn’t make any sense. If someone needed to use the body for Deatons ritual, why would they burn it?” Kira asked.

“Maybe they messed up, and the fire was like, pyrotechnic whiteout.” To be honest Stiles couldn’t think of a good reason for the fire. He couldn’t really think of a good reason to raise a demon either. Mostly he couldn’t stop thinking about Lydia, and whether or not she was ok. “Or maybe the fire had nothing to do with the murder and they happened separately. “

“I don’t think I could handle both a murderer and an arsonist.” Scott muttered, looking worried.

If anyone was more worried about Lydia than Stiles, it was Scott. He had that weird alpha habit of taking responsibility for things that were not his fault. When one of his friends was hurting it almost pained him not to help. But this was something they could not help Lydia with. Grief was a path best walked alone.

“Whatever it is we’ll figure it out. We always do eventually, don’t we?”

“Yeah but people generally have to die first.” The alpha says.

Stiles doesn’t have an answer for that.

 

 

 

 

It had been messy this time.

Lydia slumped against the wall, gazing at the basement of her grandmothers lake house. It reminded her of a poppy field. Looking at it just made her want to close her eyes . She was sobbing softly, her shoulders heaving, her knees tucked tightly to her chest.  She was not the sobbing type. Screaming, yelling, lying dejectedly in her bed without speaking. Lydia Martin acted through her grief. She was not a crier, and the way she sobbed showed it. The action seemed unnatural and ugly, a person falling apart at the seams.

The body, or the largest piece of it , was thrown haphazardly into the corner. Assorted viscera covered the ground. Here, a severed arm. There a foot, beginning to already see the grey of decay. Everywhere smears of dark red and black marks too unidentifiable think about. The smell was beginning to make the room hot and cramped. Death clung to the basement floor, to the ceiling, to her clothes.

This wasn’t what she was crying about. She wasn’t crying because of the death or the blood. She wasn’t crying for the life she had taken.

She was crying because she couldn’t remember doing this.

This was supposed to be the one thing that she could control. She was supposed to be in control.

Obviously last night she had not been.

She remembered the club. Bright lights pulsing, bodies pressed against her, hands groping her. The smell of sweat and the music she could feel in depths of her bones. She remembered the boy. Not even really a boy, but a man with lean muscles and the beginning of a beard fringing his face. His smile was almost charming. Just a little too much teeth. He was a predator like her, someone who was looking for the jugular and to him, she was an injured baby antelope limping toward him. Young, beautiful, and alone, a desperation that was almost palpable against her skin.

It was an easy mistake to make.

She had been there to forget. To let the hands and the bone deep music and lights invade her until she’d forgotten who she was. Until she could no longer hear the voices that were threatening to whisper once more to her. So that she could forget a certain wheat haired girl who for some reason would not leave her.

He tried some sort of line. Asked to buy her a drink. It must have seemed to him like an easy catch, like catching a trout by barely baiting the line. It was more like fishing for trout and catching a shark.

She remembers kissing him. But then her memory turns into red mush, much like what now covered the basement floor.

And now she had this. Maybe she was out of control, maybe she was spiraling into something she hadn’t  anticipated. She was flailing like a loose cannon, tumbling headfirst into something darker and more unpredictable. She was worried that this was no longer what she wanted, but she was in too deep to go back.

She was worried that she would smell like death forever.

In these situations it had always been Allison who pulled her out. Reminded her that she was Lydia Martin. That nothing stopped Lydia Martin. That she could do anything. In those cases, of course, Allison had been talking about parties or AP science tests.  And Allison wasn’t’ here to comfort her anyway.

She was just going to have to comfort herself.

She pulled herself up, wiping away tears with hands, she noticed for the first time, that were bloodstained. She took a deep breath and looked at the carnage.

 “I’m going to need a whole lot of bleach.” She looked at the dead man as she said it.

He did not answer.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Lion and the Fox

Lydia returned to school the next week. There were no trumpets, there were no announcements made over the PA, but the school felt the sense of celebration anyway. Everything seemed a little brighter as she walked into school. There hadn’t been any murders for the past few days. People talked about the upcoming lacrosse game or the latest episode of The Bachelor. For a shimmering moment it seemed as though everything was going to be alright.

However, Scott McCall couldn’t help feeling like something was wrong.  He wasn’t sure what it was. Generally it was Stiles who worried about things. Stiles who didn’t trust when things were good. But he was caught up in the swirl of Lydia coming back and he always seemed to have a blind spot where she was concerned.

Lydia Martin was exactly the reason for his discomfort. There was something off about her since she came back. She didn’t seem to be… all the way there. There were times where they would be talking about something, chemistry or the way coach spat when he talked or something, and he would notice her staring off into space. She seemed lost to him. He knew it was probably the freshman. Lydia had sort of adopted her and now the girl had been ripped away from her. And she had said that she reminded her of Allison. So maybe all of that was making her quiet. That was probably it.

Then why did he have this weird feeling about it?

Maybe it was her smell. Now he didn’t go around smelling his friends on a regular basis. But he did notice the Lydia smelled _cleaner_ than usual. Not hospital room disinfectant clean. But she smelled of soap and cherries more than her natural Lydia scent. Like she was showering more often. Why? He wondered if maybe he should ask Malia if she smelled anything, but didn’t want to make it seem like he was being paranoid. Really all he had to go on was a cleaner smell and the fact that she was acting weird.

He decided to instead worry about the lacrosse game like everybody else.

Lacrosse had always been easier than girls anyway.

 

 

 

 

Kira had never really understood Lydia.

She considered them friends of course. But they lived such different lives. Lydia was popular, had huge parties, owned a lake house. She had boys falling over her all the time, she always seemed to know what to say and how to act, not to mention she was a genius. She seemed perfect.  Yet, Lydia was also the person who screamed at dead bodies. She drew prophecies in her notebook. She took baseball bats to monsters. She heard voices in her head. How one person could fit all that into one life was beyond her.

She could barely manage being a Kitsune and a normal high-schooler with one boy who liked her.

Despite not understanding _how_ Lydia managed to do things, she had always felt like she knew _why_. Their differences aside, they generally shared the same goals. Get good grades, protect their friends, protect beacon hills from all the crap that happened in it. Simple. But this particular thing, Kira wasn’t so sure about.

“You want to do what?”

Lydia smiled. “ I want to have a sleepover, just us.”

Kira smiled meekly. “What about Malia?” She had never really hung out alone with Lydia. Especially not at a sleepover where she was the only attendee. She already had enough trouble feeling like she was just a replacement for Allison with Scott, but that feeling was doubled whenever she was with Lydia. She always felt like she was trying to fit into shoes she wasn’t nearly big enough to fill.

“Full Moon.  And Stiles is going to Deaton tonight to talk about his theories on the bodies and why he thinks they’ve stopped going in the pattern he expected. He said he’d call me if they came up with anything. He probably wouldn’t want to sleep over anyway. “

Kira laughed a little, still feeling nervous. _Relax. We’re friends. We  fight monsters together it’s not like you can’t handle being at her house._ “Ok.” She said finally. “I’ll ask my mom.”

“Thank you.” Lydia said, “I could really use a girls night. “

Something in the way that she said that made Kira decide that she was going to enjoy herself tonight. At least for Lydia’s sake.

She could use a girls night too.

 

 

 

 

 

Malia always enjoyed full moon nights. When she was so close to losing control, just letting the coyote take her, she always felt closer to the way it used to be. She also enjoyed the time alone with Scott. Although they were all part of Scotts pack, it was only she and him who felt the pull of the full moon, who had some wolf in them.

They sat in the forest, backs flat against the grass. The stars were just beginning to glimmer above high above them as the last rays of sunlight died against the horizon. It was almost time. This clearing was where they went every full moon., or at least where they started. She tried every time to do as Scott did. To stay calm, and collected. To hold back the change. But she could never manage it. Or maybe it’s that she never really wanted to. Scott had worked out that as long as they were far away from beacon hills and he was there with his alpha mojo to keep her in check, it didn’t matter if she changed. She could be free if only for one night.

“How’re you feeling?” Scott asked. He knew how important this was to her, this release, but he was also practical. She had to learn how to control this, and she knew this. So she tried.

“I’m ok.” She said. Her voice had the tiniest hint of strain. She could feel it already, she wanted to run and hunt and hide and kill. She could feel the blood on her tongue and she didn’t care what  kind. Her heart beat faster as she thought about it. _Stop it._ She told herself. _Be good._ “Tell me something.”

“Like what?”

“Anything.”

He pauses, hesitates perceptibly and she can tell that he doesn’t want to tell her what he is about to say. Time with Scotts pack had taught her that look well enough. People danced around everything. If a coyote needed to say something, you knew. There was no time for dancing in the wild.

“Has Lydia seemed strange to you lately?” He asked.

“She’s been quiet.” The werecoyote said. She remembered for a moment the burning forest. The barest hint of cherry’s in the smoke. “and smells weird. A little like echo house, but cleaner.”

Scott made a noise in the back of his throat. “Yeah. I thought it was just me. I’m worried about her.”

“Worried she might have something to do with the killings?”

He was quiet for a moment too long. “Of course not. It’s Lydia. But with Alison and that freshman…who  knows what she’s doing to cope?”

 _“_ Like murdering high school students?” Malia said, but she regretted it immediately. Scott was right. It was Lydia they were talking about. Scott didn’t answer her, just gazed upward toward the stars. She wanted to say something else, but in the next moment she forgot what that was, her breathing hitching as the full moon came into view above the tree tops. She let out a noise, half scream half howl, and the coyote took over, dashing into the woods.

Scott McCall followed, his brow furrowed in thought.

 

 

 

 

Stiles rubbed the bridge of his nose, irritated that they hadn’t found an answer yet. The counter spell that Deaton had promised would stop whatever demon rising seemed to have worked, there hadn’t been a death in weeks, but they still couldn’t figure out who or what was behind this. They couldn’t be sure it was over until they did.

“Lets go over it again.”  Deaton said.

“We’ve been over it a thousand times already! We’ve looked at this from every angle, face it we’re not gonna figure this out tonight.”

“Come on, Stiles. One more time.”

The boy sighed, but relented.  “Fine. 5 bodies. All with that symbol in your book. All apparently sacrificed to summon the dracchus  demon. All of them were covered in wolfsbane.  All of them fit the bill except the freshman, who was burned in a fire. Suspects, none. Motive, none. Leads- surprise! -none.”

“That’s not necessarily true. We know that all the bodies were found in Beacon Hills.” He walked over to the wall, where a map of the city was marked with large red x’s. “The school, “ he points to an x over Beacon Hills High. “The woods, the constructions site, etcetera. We know it’s someone who knows the area.”

“So it’s someone from Beacon Hills. That really narrows it down.”

Deaton ignored him. “All the victims were young, if not at Beacon Hills High, old enough to go. And since they are marked for werewolves, I think it’s pretty safe to say it’s someone we know.”

Stiles mulled over that for a moment. He’d been looking at this as an outside threat, some new villain about to stir up trouble. But who could it be. Peter? Likely, he was always up to something but he was in Eichen house. [fact check]. Dereck? He almost laughed out loud at that one. He doubted that if Dereck was going on a killing spree, he would settle for murdering a few high school kids. “So someone who knows about the werewolves, and is inside of Beacon Hills?”

“Exactly.”

“That narrows it down too much. Basically the only people who know are the Pack. And no one in the pack would do that.”

“I would have agreed with you before the Nogitsune, Stiles.”

Stiles looked down, realizing that he was right. If something else got to one of them, who knew what havoc they could wreak. “We’d know though, right?” We’d notice something like that. We noticed the Nogitsune, I mean you all thought it was just me, but you noticed it anyway.”

“I’d like to think we would, but who knows.” Deaton raised his hands to his face, rubbing it tiredly. He looked so old in that movement. Stiles realized he didn’t actually know how old Deaton was. How many lives he’d lived. How many friends he’d lost. Why did he do it? “Ok, so if hypothetically one of us is a killer, who is it?”

“It’s not me. I’ve already done the murder thing, not a fan.”

“Stiles.”

“Sorry. And we know it’s not Scott.” That was the one thing he knew for certain. “Not Lydia, either. Malia? Kira?” Neither of them seemed likely.

“I don’t know that we can say for sure it couldn’t be any of them. “Deaton said.

Stiles shot him a look.

“Ok maybe not Scott.”

 

 

 

 

Lydia couldn’t get the image of Kira’s dead body out of her head.

It was especially jarring considering that Kira was sitting right in front of her.

She was in her pajamas, her finger gliding over the ingredients list of the ice cream container, eyes squinting in concentration. Yet Lydia couldn’t get the image out of her head, of those hands stilled forever, those eyes staring lifeless at the sky. It would be a challenge, that’s for sure. She had no idea how to kill a Kitsune. Something to do with the tails, maybe?

_Stop. Kira is a friend. We don’t kill friends._

She knew that, she really did. And she liked Kira, she was as much a part of her as Scott or Stiles were. But that didn’t stop the slight rush of adrenaline she felt thinking about how to kill her.

“Are you ok?” Kira’s voice knocked her out of her thoughts. The other girl looked at her worriedly.

She smiled. “Never better.” One thing about Kira was that she was easy to fool. She was trusting, much like Scott. That was probably why they made such a good couple.  

Kira looked relieved. “I think I can eat this. Are you sure about this movie?”

“What’s a sleepover without a scary movie?”

“Fun?”

Lydia moved to grab the rest of the supplies off of the counter: Popcorn, potato chips, marshmallows,  and spoons while Kira grabbed the Ice Cream, the chocolate chips and the chocolate syrup. “You’ve seen things a thousand times worse than the fake blood and bad acting in this movie.” She reassured her.

“Exactly. Why relive it?”

Lydia found it funny, how wrong they got it. How it was impossible to capture the feeling of running for your life or the exact color of blood. How stupid the people in the movies always were. But she could see how that could remind Kira of things better left forgotten. They carried  all the supplies to Lydias sizable living room and she rummaged through her dvd’s.  “How about a compromise? We watch Halloween, then you can pick whatever Disney movie you want and we’ll watch that.”

Kira grabbed a bag of popcorn off the table. “Deal.”

They watched the movie in relative silence, Kira squeaking whenever they got to the scary parts. Lydia was shocked by how much she identified with Laurie. She remembered how it felt to be hunted. Now she was the hunter. Maybe that’s why she’d wanted to watch this movie in the first place. To remind herself of who she used to be.

Of who she was now.

They finished Halloween and then Kira chose to watch Beauty and the Beast, Kira’s favorite. Lydia wondered if she saw Scott as the beast, and herself as the quiet bookish girl meant to bring him out of his shell. Or maybe that was just Lydia projecting her boredom onto the movie. Beauty and the Beast had never been one of her favorites. She’d always liked the lion king.

Kira was looking sleepy around the part when Gaston was riling up an army to fight the beast and was out by the time the beast turned into a rather handsome man and kissed Belle. She turned off the movie, and glanced at the soft sleeping form of her friend. Unlike some, even sleeping Kira looked formidable.  Sure she was cute, but it would take a fool to look at her and think she was defenseless. Lydia wasn’t a fool.

But her defenses didn’t matter right? She wasn’t in any danger. Not from Lydia. _We don’t kill friends._

That didn’t stop her from looking up how to kill a kitsune on her phone.   _For curiosities sake. Just friendly research. It’s to protect her._

She didn’t even quite believe herself.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fox and the darkness

“One of us?” Scott was incredulous.  He didn’t want to believe that one of his friends would ever kill, not in this way.  They had killed people before, but those had been unavoidable, people who would have easily killed them. But coldblooded murder?

His thoughts couldn’t help but flicker to Lydia and what Malia had said. Deaton and Stiles were watching him, searching for a reaction. They were sitting in the veterinary clinic, the map Stiles and Deaton had marked hanging on the wall. Listening to their reasoning, it made sense that one of them could have been responsible. Except for the fact that it was _them._ The pack fought evil, they didn’t become it.

Well, except Stiles. But it hadn’t really been stiles, it had been the nogitsune.  Maybe it was possible, then.  Maybe it was necessary to look at one of their own in order to protect them and maybe, that person was Lydia. But he didn’t say that. Instead he asked: “How do you know it wasn’t me?”

Deaton and Stiles both gave him a look. Fine. He wasn’t going to argue with them, although he was a little insulted. He was scary.

“It wasn’t Kira.” He said next. Even though he had no way of proving it he knew Kira didn’t have it in her.

“-and it wasn’t Malia, she was with me during most of the murders. Or at least when we think they happened.” Stiles replied quickly. He was perched on the exam table, looking anxious.

None of them wanted to say it.

“Are we sure it couldn’t have been someone else? Someone who’s just knows a lot about us?”

“Hey, maybe it was Deaton!” Stiles tried to joke.

“Yes because murdering students is exactly what I want to do in my free time.” Deaton said wryly.  “Look Scott, none of us want it to be her, but we have to get rid of the most obvious choice first: Lydia.”

Lydia.

Reluctantly, Scott tells them everything he and Malia had talked about. How she’d been smelling weird lately, and been distracted.  He realized, looking back how he hadn’t even questioned how she’d been there at that first murder. He’d just assumed it was a Banshee thing.

“We need more evidence. We can’t just accuse her of murder without anything more to go on than ‘you’ve been acting weird.’” Stiles said. Scott wondered if he was having more trouble with this than met the eye. This was Lydia they were talking about, the girl he’d had a crush on since he’d known what a crush was.

“We’ll have to get someone to study her without her knowing.” Deaton’s suggestion was sound.

“Ok,” Scott said. “Who?”

“She has been hanging out with Kira lately. “ Stiles said.

He definitely didn’t like where this was going.

 

 

 

 

Stiles hadn’t said that Lydia was a blood thirsty murderer.  He hadn’t said that he wanted Kira spy on her. What he had said was that he was “worried” about her since the murders and he wanted her to “keep an eye” on her. But Kira was nervous anyway. For one she didn’t think Lydia was capable of coldblooded murder. Plus spying made her feel kind of dirty. But they needed to find out the truth and Scott and Stiles and Deaton trusted her on this. So she was doing her part.

Which was why she was once more sleeping over at Lydia’s house. This time they were at the lake house.  When she asked the about the change, Lydia had only smiled and said something about a ‘change of scenery’

Kira didn’t really get it, but she went with it. Sometimes with Lydia it was just better that way. As the moon rose over the lake, they were sitting on the dock, feet dangling in the water. Kira couldn’t remember what the lake was called, despite having lived in Beacon Hills for a while now. It was funny how they always talked about the lake house but never the lake. Lydia was quiet next to her as they looked, contemplating the moon reflected across the clear surface. It was just after full, and seemed a little sad and shrunken in the sky.

“Are you ok?” She asked, breaking the silence.

“Yeah. I’m just thinking.” Lydia said.

“What?”

The red headed girl sighed, and let the silence sit between them for a moment before answering. “It’s funny, how something so far away can cause so much trouble.”

“It looks so small from down here.” Kira agreed.

“Sometimes it’s the small things that break us.” Lydia said this almost to herself, but then smiled. “Look at me, getting all philosophical. You want to go inside?”

The rest of the night was lighter, they drank a bit from things stolen from her parent’s liquor cabinet and talked through the night in a way they hadn’t for a long time. Kira almost forgot that she was there for a reason. After Lydia fell asleep on the large couch, Kira slowly slipped away to look at the rest of the house. It made sense the more she thought about it. If you’re secretly a murderer you’re not going to do the murdering in your own house are you? So maybe Lydia’s secret murder lair was at the lake house.

Hypothetical murder lair, she reminded herself.

But slinking through the halls of the lake house in the dark wasn’t inspiring her higher reasoning skills. She knew that her best bet was to check the basement, but the speed of her heart when she started to move toward the heavy wooden door was telling her it was a bad idea. _Don’t be a baby._ She told herself. The pack had faced worse things than whatever was in this basement. Which, she reminded herself again, was probably just wine and spiders.

She slowly turned the handle and was slightly surprised to find it was open.

“Looking for something?”

Kira whipped around to see Lydia standing behind her, her expression half annoyed and half sleepy. Lydia was the kind of person who could look intimidating even in designer pajamas.

“Uh, nothing! I was just… I couldn’t sleep. And I was curious.”

“About my basement?” Lydia crossed her arms.

“Yeah. We’ve never been down there. I thought maybe I’d check it out.” Kira wondered if this was convincing at all considering she hadn’t even wanted to watch a horror movie with Lydia a few weeks ago and now she was trying to go into a dark basement in the middle of the night.

Lydia pushed passed her and finished opened the door. “After you.” She gestured, and somehow the thought of going down there scared her even more with Lydia there with her. But she swallowed her fear and began to walk down. Lydia turned on a weak light from a string hanging from the ceiling. The basement was really just a concrete block, with a smooth rock floor and blank walls. There were a few boxes piled up in the corners and on the floor a few dark marks. Probably mildew or dirt.

“Happy now?”

“I expected something…grander?” Kira admitted. “Or at least more mysterious.”

“My parents haven’t finished remodeling it yet. My mom has a whole plan for a yoga studio or something. Can we go to sleep now?”

Kira laughed a little more nervously than she intended and nodded. She felt a little silly. For a moment she’d actually believed that maybe Lydia had a murder basement and was luring her into it. Stupid. The boys must be wrong about her.

But she didn’t think she had imagined the feeling of tension in the air. The fox inside her knew mischief, and she could feel something was off.

She just didn’t know what.

 

 

 

 

Lydia knew they knew.

It was almost impossible for her not to, with Kira lurking around the lake house and the way the pack kept looking at her. She was dealing with this news as best she could.

Which is to say she was holding a senior at knife point.

It was actually an exercise in restraint. She was trying to prove to herself that she was in control, that every set back didn’t send her to a spiral of music and sweat and blood. She was going slow, shallow cuts, not letting herself really delve into him. It was difficult, considering how well she knew him.

He was someone she’d been going to school with for a while, a boy always on the edge of her attention. She vaguely remembered a playdate when they were children, something full of knights and dragons and make believe. That almost made her laugh, the idea of make believe. She wasn’t really sure what was real any more. This was. She was sure of that. She hadn’t gagged him this time, which was another marker of how well she was controlling herself. He kept…talking. Begging. It was interfering with her thoughts, making her unfocused. She wanted to shut him up, to not hear him squeal every time she cut him. Not to hear him talk about his family. His two sisters. His mother. She desperately wanted to cut all of that out of him. Maybe she would cut out his tongue. But then she’d have to hear him scream about that.

For now she just cut him. Enough to bleed, and not much more. She cut fun shapes into his skin, figure eights on his arms, lines she imagined were the arms of trees across his stomach, smiley faces in his thighs. It was an elaborate etch of her madness, she supposed.

It was funny, that she’d chosen him. Almost like her brain was circling, getting closer and closer to what she cared about. The people she cared about. She knew who her next victim would be. It was inevitable, no matter this waltz she was doing with the specter of control. It would not be as easy as that boy in the closet or the wheat haired girl or the others before or in between. It would be the hardest hunt yet, but then maybe she could rest. As much as she was enjoying this gentle descent into madness she wasn’t planning on doing this forever.

What was she going to do then? Was there anything under all of this? Could she really go back to classes or work a job or marry a boy after holding a man’s heart in her bare hands? She couldn’t help picturing herself as some kind of Lady Macbeth character, always seeing blood on her hands, always smelling the faint whiff of viscera in the air.

A part of her knew the truth. That this was a downward spiral with no ladder back up. That there was no coming back from this.

But she let herself play with this idea. _One last job, then I’m done._

She smiled at that thought and continued her work, every cut a tick mark. She started a tally on his back of people she had killed. Lives she had taken well before their due. It wasn’t as many as she could have. Wasn’t as many as it was going to be.

Thinking about that, the knife in her hand, the blood on her fingers, his incessant moans and she couldn’t do it. Couldn’t control herself any longer. She stabbed him, sent it straight through his back. He sputtered and she came for his front, straight through his ribs and to his heart. It was easy. Laughably so. He sputtered, the redness flowing from his lips and over his already bleeding body. His surprise was nearly comical. She watched him until he stilled, just a husk, another broken piece left behind in her wake.

_Who needs control anyway?_

Afterwards, a part of her wanted to tell someone. It was a strange urge. She imagined herself calling Kira, telling her about the blood on her hands, about the feeling she got when someone’s life drained out of them. She imagined the incredulous look on Scotts face, and she imagined the grim knowing one in Stiles. He would know the feeling more than any of the others. Even if it hadn’t really been him, he still remembered the feeling of playing with death between his fingers. Scott and Kira might be able to forgive her one day. But Stiles?

He’d been too close to darkness to trust a girl who’d chosen it.

That was fine. She didn’t need them. Or if she did it didn’t matter.

As always, she had to walk toward oblivion alone.


End file.
